


Still

by curlyj76



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:37:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1789093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlyj76/pseuds/curlyj76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're feeling sick and stranded, sometimes a friend is the best medicine possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still

**Author's Note:**

> TOTALLY not cannon, so don't even try looking for a connection. Any and all lovely mistakes are my own. Hopefully someone will enjoy. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: They're not mine, I'm not claiming they are. No copyright infringement intended.

I can't believe I ever had the desire to be still… _to not move_.

Lying here now, all I WANT to do is move.

To move as freely as I did at any one of the seemingly endless political 'grip and grins.' To feel the energy of a ridiculous dance, of being twirled about in a giddy circle by an equally giddy Wally or President Adar.

I think of Richard now and I want him to be alive.

I want him here to accept the responsibility he was hijacked into office for.

No one would ever know that he was as reluctant as I was at being put into the political spotlight. That all we ever wanted, Richard, Wally and I, was to make sure the world wasn't as screwed up as it had the possibility of being. That everyone would be able to have an equal say – an opportunity that allowed them to move from wherever they were, to where they wanted to go…

I want Richard here so that I won't have to face this alone. I'm surrounded by concerned medical staff. Even those that I have grown closest in the time "After the End of the World" are not here – they can't be here – I wish desperately that it's because of their responsibilities and not some indescribable feeling of misplaced mortality or lack thereof.

I saw my mother's friends and family fall away at the end. They all had other places to be instead of by her side. They had other things they were desperately throwing themselves into to avoid the reality of seeing her lying there in that hospital bed…so still.

I hear voices; see shapes outside of the curtain that has been drawn around my bed. I hear Cottle's voice, low and serious. I knew I was in trouble the minute he stopped smoking during our appointments. For a man who wears a mask of tragedy like a second skin, to see him so grim and unsettled that he couldn't even master a sarcastic retort…

I hear Lee's voice, see him standing there behind the curtain with another person...gesturing. He sounds upset, like there is something the doctor should be doing. That there is something to be done that will stem the tide. I feel myself smile, it's such an amazing feat that I find myself thinking about the fact that it's the one thing that doesn't seem to hurt.

Distracted by this simple act, I don't hear Lee leave, I don't hear Cottle's injured response to the blame and I don't hear Kara's usual colorful expletives.

I do hear the curtain move aside and I sense a presence next to my bed. I know better than to open the eyes that I have closed during my reverie of smiles. I know that she's standing there, as self-contained as I am.

Unwilling to admit defeat, pain…an attachment to someone other than her adoptive family. I've seen her at times, while walking from the Commander's quarters in search of my errant aide, standing by herself. Arms wrapped around her waist. Ever since our flight to Kobol – before even – when she returned triumphant with the arrow she's been quiet. Injured.

My mind wanders as its wont to do now a days and I loose track of  how long she stands there before she too retreats.

I think about that posture, about how it used to be such a comfortable thing for me to do. Richard and Wally used to tease me about it. Apparently it resembled a pose their mothers would strike when they knew that their mischievous boys were trying to get away with something. At some point "After the End of the World" it transformed into something that kept me from imploding from the strain of what we were going through.

It changed from an endearing trait to a way for me to manage the pain. The gentle grip on my arm became a vise, a place my weighted chest could rest against when I couldn't let the tears fall…

I swear a person could feel him come into the room without hearing or even seeing him. His presence is unique. Controlled. Vibrating. It's a visceral thing, alive with its own purpose.

He steps towards me once I have opened my eyes, waiting for some acknowledgment that he wasn't disturbing me... That he wasn't interrupting a moment that I would prefer to go through without an audience.

"Madame President." he says as he nods a silent salute.

"Commander." The effort it takes for me to respond surprises me for an instant.

We speak of the fleet. He gives me the status reports that I normally would have read or would have listened to Billy regurgitate. Apparently Billy is at his wit's end. Gaius Baltar is testing the patience of my "Golden Boy." I have to smile at this. I know it's not the most appropriate thing to do, but sometimes the personality clashes between those two amuse me to no end, the pontificating Gaius Baltar and the straight-as-an-arrow Billy Keikeya. What I wouldn't give to be sitting, listening to them debate the details of the office of the President. What I wouldn't give to be sitting period.

Bill sees me shift uncomfortably, trying to move enough so that I'm not in this prone position any longer. I have this incredible need to move, the need to sit up so that I'm facing my death…not lying in wait for its calm…its stillness.

"Laura?"

Gone now is the formal posture, the air of duty before all else… In its place is a level of personal concern that has just recently developed. I can't look at him, I just can't. I can't let him see. It's too close to the surface, this overwhelming feeling of anger, of resentment…of fear. I just want to sit. I can't move and I can't get the stupid bed to move. Frak! Seriously…Frak! How hard can it be?!

"Laura?"

He repeats, but this time he's touched my wrist. I try to pull away, but he holds firm waiting for me to look at him, to speak. I sigh…no that's not right, I huff. I actually huff like a wayward child who is protesting the woes of a recess-restricted life.

"I want to sit up, but this…this vertically challenged trapeze is being as difficult as a – well I don't know right now…but –"

I stop mid-rant as I happen to glance up and notice the contained smirk spreading across his face. I think my face must have shown my utter contempt at the thought that he found my situation funny, that he would dare laugh at a critically ill patient on her deathbed.

"Bill! How can you – how can you just stand there and…and SMIRK!"

Suddenly, the hand that was resting on my wrist is pulled up into a motion of complete and total surrender.

"Laura… I'm sorry. You're right." Damn him. He's still smiling. He needs to stop smiling. I won't be able to stay mad at him if he continues like that, but onward he goes without any consideration for my precious sanity. "Would you like me to help? Or would you rather I get Doctor Cottle?" he asks.

Damn! Double damn and … and damn him again! Why does he have to do that?! Why does he have to stand there with that stupid little smile and an expression of gentle concern? Why does he make me forget about my illness? Why does he make me hope for something better than what I know will happen?

"Don't bother Cottle. The last thing I need to hear from him is that I'm better off lying flat on my back…that I'll be more comfortable that way..."

"You're not going to get a complaint from me," he says as he leans toward me. "I've always preferred to move around in bed…not to stay in one position for too long…"

He's close now, has his arms around my back as he says that last bit. I know I jerk a little in surprise. I'm not sure what to make of his comment. Did he mean what I thought he did? Was he actually flirting? I clear my throat nervously and feel my face flush. He pulls away and begins to smooth the sheets around my body.

"After a while lying prostrate makes your muscles feel like they're going to numb. Don't you agree?"

I can't do it! I can't look at him in the face. His hand is still pressed into the bed by my thigh where it had stalled in its journey.

"Laura, are you OK?" I finally look up at him, feeling slightly more composed than the adolescent teenager I was a few seconds ago.

"I'm fine. I just need to get my bearings again. It's been a while since I've moved that much."

"I understand. Practice does make perfect though. Maybe I can come back after shift and help you. Show you a few of the positions I've found to be the most comfortable? Of course, the knowledge I gained is coming from my last extended stay here..."

I swear there's a twinkle in his eye. It's there. I can see it! He did it on purpose! I can't believe his nerve. I can't believe his audacity! I…I can't believe he cares. The slow grin that emerges on my face is a completely unconscious response. It doesn't hurt. I'm giddy with movement again. I'm sitting facing my future. Except this time my future is filled with nights of quiet contemplation, of dinners by candlelight and dancing with a man who would dare to challenge fate.


End file.
